The next day.
Driftmark, Hulltown.
The "Queen Who Never Was", Rhaenys Targaryen, was celebrating her nameday. Nobles from various regions arrived by ship, seizing the opportunity to curry favor with House Velaryon.
At Hulltown's harbor...
"Screeeaaaargh!"
A massive golden dragon soared through the sky, flying low over the sea before climbing higher.
A three-masted ship with the Targaryen three-headed red dragon banner cut through the waves, its prow sculpted into the shape of a golden dragon's head.
"Dragon!!"
Merchants from the Free Cities erupted in a mix of awe and fear at the sight of the golden dragon.
When they saw the royal ship the dragon was escorting, they immediately understood—the Targaryens had arrived.
"Urghh...!"
On the deck, King Viserys leaned over the railing, retching uncontrollably.
The last rider of Balerion the Black Dread, the King of Westeros, seasick.
Standing nearby, Ser Lyonel Strong, the Hand of the King, silently pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the pale-faced king.
"Thank you," Viserys mumbled weakly, wiping his mouth.
Lyonel said nothing as he watched the king retreat to his cabin for rest.
They hadn't even reached their destination, and the king was already struggling. Worse challenges awaited them.
If the king faltered, the royal family's dignity would be trampled.
Half an hour later.
The royal ship docked at the port, and the sailors busily unloaded the royal gifts.
Viserys, despite his frailty, pushed away his wife Alicent's supporting hand, descending the gangplank alone.
A king must never appear weak.
Above him, Syrax circled overhead, letting out a piercing roar.
Viserys glanced up and gave a slight nod.
His brother Daemon had refused to lend his strength.
His daughter, Rhaenyra, was the only Targaryen who could maintain the family's image of power.
Though Syrax was still a young dragon, it was enough to keep prying eyes at bay and uphold royal dignity.
Suddenly, another dragon's roar echoed through the sky—a second, more aggressive cry.
From behind a bank of clouds emerged a pale silver dragon, charging straight for Syrax.
Syrax, caught off guard, flapped her wings frantically to regain balance as the silver dragon swooped past her at breakneck speed.
"Boom!"
The silver dragon flew dangerously close, stirring fierce winds as it passed.
"Screeeaaargh!"
Syrax flapped her wings furiously, nearly losing her balance in the turbulent air.
"Don't be afraid, Syrax!" Rhaenyra shouted, her face cold with fury as she worked to calm her distressed dragon.
The silver dragon circled back but refrained from further aggression.
A silver-haired young man rode the dragon, his expression apologetic as he called out, "My apologies, Princess. Seasmoke is fiercely territorial and didn't mean to offend you."
The man was strikingly handsome, with sharp features and an aquiline nose. His Valyrian silver hair and violet eyes marked him as a pureblood.
There was a gentle charm in his expression—one might even say he was too pretty.
Rhaenyra, however, wasn't fooled by his polite words. Her icy gaze could have frozen the sea itself.
"I will make amends. You have my word," the rider said, avoiding eye contact as he directed Seasmoke toward the horizon.
At the port.
Viserys stood still, staring at the scene in silence.
"This was an attack! A crime of treason!" Ser Lyonel hissed through gritted teeth.
As a loyal servant of the crown, he believed that any insult to the king warranted severe consequences.
Even Queen Alicent looked shocked by the audacity of the Velaryons. She hadn't expected them to openly provoke the royal family.
"Viserys..." she began cautiously.
"Enough. Let's go," the king interrupted, his face dark with anger.
The Targaryens no longer had the power to match House Velaryon.
For now, he would endure this humiliation and see what Lord Corlys Velaryon intended.
A white carriage, drawn by six horses, arrived to carry the royal party to High Tide.
In the sky.
Rhaenyra's heart burned with indignation as she calmed Syrax. Her frustration was difficult to contain.
The difference between their families wasn't just in political influence.
Even their dragons weren't on the same level.
Seasmoke had hatched on Dragonstone and bonded with Laenor Velaryon during his youth. Both dragon and rider had gained combat experience during the Stepstones War.
Meanwhile, Syrax had hatched from an egg placed in Rhaenyra's cradle. She was younger than Seasmoke by a few years and had never seen battle.
In terms of size, Syrax's ten-meter wingspan was no match for Seasmoke's over-twenty-meter frame.
They weren't equals in any sense.
"The Velaryons... Their ambitions are boundless," Rhaenyra whispered, clenching her fists.
Her gaze drifted toward Dragonstone.
Aemon had been gone for two days and nights. There had been no news from him yet.
She had made excuses to cover for his absence, but the truth wouldn't stay hidden for long.
Today, of all days, he needed to make an appearance.
Midday.
At High Tide, a stone castle perched on a seaside cliff, the Velaryon family's prosperity was on full display.
A white carriage rattled over the wet stone road, coming to a halt before the bustling courtyard.
Viserys stepped out of the carriage, leading his entourage inside.
Rhaenyra, having secured Syrax, followed closely behind her father.
The courtyard was teeming with lords and merchants, their chatter filling the air.
But the moment the King entered, the crowd fell silent.
Viserys stood at the threshold, his gaze flickering as he waited for someone to greet him.
"Where is Lord Corlys?" Ser Lyonel demanded, scanning the room. "He should be here to welcome the king!"
With a loud boom, the castle's main doors swung open.
Two figures emerged.
One bore a striking resemblance to Corlys Velaryon, tall and imposing, but with a more arrogant air.
The other was a young, golden-haired man, roughly Laenor's age, with a strikingly handsome face.
Lyonel's temper flared.
"Vaemond Velaryon!" he barked. "What is the meaning of this?"
Lyonel's voice rose above the crowd. "Is this how House Velaryon welcomes the king?"
Vaemond halted two meters away, giving a slight nod in acknowledgment. His demeanor was calm, his tone measured.
"My brother has only just returned from a long journey. He is waiting for you in the Nine Voyages Hall."
His words were unmistakably disrespectful.
Lyonel's face turned red with rage, but Viserys held up a hand, stopping him.
"Don't lose your temper," the king whispered.
Lyonel fell silent, though fury still simmered beneath his calm exterior.
If Corlys wasn't going to greet them personally, Princess Rhaenys or one of their children should have been sent in his stead.
But instead, only Vaemond had come.
Even so, the king chose to bear the slight in silence.
In the Nine Voyages Hall, Corlys stood by a window, watching the king's procession enter the castle.
His gaze was distant, his thoughts unreadable.
Viserys was weak.
But he was also a master of playing the fool.
"How long will you endure this, my king?" Corlys murmured to himself.
"When it comes to matters of family, no one remains indifferent for long."